The Unknown Chapter
by Terraphim86
Summary: After the deaths of Corvinus and his sons, Selene and Michael are forced to go on the run from vampires and lycans alike, all the while uncovering secrets long buried. Rated M for sexuality and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**: Territory

**Author:** Terraphim

**Rating**: Mature for sexuality and violence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Selene, Michael, or any of the other characters mentioned. They are owned by Len & Co. and Screen Gems. I _do_ wish I owned Michael, but that's for my own nefarious reasons…

**Spoiler Warning**: _Underworld_ and _Underworld Evolution_

**Summary**: Selene and Michael begin the difficult process of aftermath.

* * *

The dull screech of the dying helicopter made Michael want to clap his hands over his ears, but he was too focused on the woman still perched atop the broken bridge; her eyes glowed fiercely, more frosty white than blue. A _thump_ brought his attention back down to the ground, where Marcus's head had landed just inches from that of William's. The Elder had worked so hard to be reunited with his brother. Well, now he was. Not caring for propriety or respect for the dead, Michael growled and shoved it farther away. The other hybrid had hurt Selene.

Selene: she was still standing on top of the bridge, not moving, just breathing. Michael could smell her blood seeping through her ruined corset. He concentrated, and Changed back into his human form and went to find the steps that led to the bridge. He could have jumped it, but wasn't sure of the structural integrity of the thing.

By the time he was at the top of the stairs and could see her, Michael realized two things. Firstly, she had already stopped bleeding. This was surprising, even after seeing her burns heal so quickly yesterday. Marcus had skewered her with his razor-sharp wings; she should have been dead. Instead, the way she held herself showed him that her spine had not been damaged, nor did it seem to have affected any of her internal organs; her heart he could hear beating furiously. But the other realization was even more of a shock.

Selene was standing beside a ray of sunlight, her back to him, her hand floating in the glow, and she was not burning.

Michael stared, not believing that the winter morning light was not harming her fragile, translucent skin. But his confusion was replaced by much more solid wonder when she half-turned, exposing her face to the radiance as well.

Still, she did not burn.

Michael's breath caught in his chest. She had tears building in her eyes. And even more, she looked even more stunning in the sunlight than she did in the moonlight. He couldn't help but smile.

* * *

He walked towards her. 

Selene's breath came raggedly from her, heartbreaking fear mixed with the overwhelming joy that threatened to consume her instead of the harmless ultraviolet light streaming around her. Joy that she was standing in the sunlight, joy that he was walking toward her.

Fear that it was all too good to be true, that she was moving in slow motion, and that at any moment, she would feel the familiar horrific pain that sunlight had always meant before, and that he would disappear, only an apparition in her mind to sooth her in her last moments.

But he still walked forward. And her skin felt nothing but warmth.

He was close enough now to touch, but she did not dare make contact. He stepped into the pool of sunlight that bathed her, his green eyes a shade she'd not seen before. Selene stood there, petrified that if she reached out, he would vanish, or fall to the ground, dead as when she had last seen him.

The dam finally broke. The tears that had been welling up now overflowed, and ran down her face. She stared at him, pleading with him to touch her, to confirm that he was really there. He did. He gently touched the sides of her face, and kissed her. Relieved and shaking, she kissed him wholeheartedly back.

He pulled away after a few moments. "What happened?" He asked, his voice quavering.

"I don't…" Selene started, but she had to start over again. "I thought he killed you. Marcus. I thought you were dead."

Michael pulled her into an embrace, burying his face into her hair. "No," he murmured into her ear. "I could hear everything; I just couldn't get up. I wasn't gone, I promise."

Selene shut her eyes tightly, relief coursing through her like the blood in her veins. A few more tears fell off her face onto his shoulder. "You weren't moving; you weren't breathing…I couldn't…" But she was unable finish the sentence. He pulled away from her, just far enough to look at her expression.

He shook his head and smiled at her. "Anyway, that's not what I'm talking about," he said, "I'm talking about _this_." He took her hand, and placed it in the morning illumination.

She stared, as if mesmerized, at the picture their joined hands made in the glow. Then she looked back up him.

"Corvinus had me feed from him," she voiced softly. "There was no other way; he was dying. Marcus had attacked him." She shook her head. "I asked him what would happen to me, but he was really vague. I honestly think he just didn't know what could happen. But it worked. He gave me the strength to kill his son. And this." She intertwined her fingers with his in the light.

"Do you feel different?" Michael asked, sounding concerned. Selene smiled at the doctor-turned-immortal.

"I'm…fine," she said, "I just feel stronger. Are you alright?"

"Tired," was the reply, "but I'm okay."

Her smile grew broader. "Yes, you are."

He smiled back at her and pulled her into a tight hug. Selene shut her eyes, resting her head into his shoulder.

She was in Michael's arms, in the sunlight. At that moment, nothing else mattered in the world.

* * *

Before leaving the castle ruins, Selene only made sure of one thing: Marcus's remains were scattered even further away from each other than the helicopter had done, to ensure the dead hybrid would not make his own regeneration, like that of Michael's. The head of the fallen Elder was left where it fell, next to William's damaged skull. If anyone should ever find this place again, the two Corvinus brothers' heads would greet them, a testimony to the lengths they had gone to be together. 

Michael went to the fallen helicopter. Inside, there were no weapons left, just the bodies of the two pilots. Michael had gone to see if either had survived the fall but it was to no avail. The first had broken his neck; the second had been impaled. He felt badly, not being able to give them burials, but after he had collected some supplies from the aircraft, including jackets for himself and Selene, he pulled the gas lines out, and set the helicopter blazing. The lycans' bodies were also burned. In the end, the only corpses left in the dismal place were that of the Corvinus brothers.

_My uncles, way back_, a terrible voice said in the back of his head. But given all that he had been through in the past few days, this circumstance was no more twisted than anything else. That he had met his ancient ancestor was just too strange to comprehend, much less the sons of that ancient ancestor. That he had _killed_ one of them with his bare hands…well, he didn't want to think about it. Corvinus had given him no more than a passing acknowledgement, and no wonder. Where would a 28-year old and someone well into his second millennium find common ground? _Nowhere_, Michael answered to himself. Corvinus had seen that, as well, speaking mostly to Selene who although nowhere near his age, was a good deal older than Michael.

_And wiser,_ Michael thought. Selene would never see it in herself, or if she did she never mentioned it, but Michael did: for someone who had been lied to for six hundred years, she was erudite and clear-eyed. And practical, beyond anyone he'd even known.

Selene had explained what had transpired when he been out for the count. She'd thought he'd been dead, she told him, though she had hardly needed to. Though not totally aware of what had gone on around him, Michael did have recollections of his two "dead" hours: he remembered being shoved in the helicopter and stuffed in a body bag. He remembered hearing the gunfire.

He remembered her begging him to not be dead. Pleading, crying, hitting him in grief and frustration. He had wanted to sit up, to say _I'm alright, don't worry_, but a force even more powerful than his bone-aching exhaustion had gripped him, preventing him from even blinking or drawing breath to assure her he was still there, still with her. It wasn't until he had been in the helicopter that he had been able to force his eyes open, to be able to move at all.

But it was hearing the Cleaners say that she was being overwhelmed by the proto-lycans in the castle that got him moving. The new, strangely feral part of him, the same part that had demanded he rip the lycan's throat out while at Tanis's place, had screamed at him to wake up and protect his mate.

_My mate,_ he mused, _I never would have used that word before._ But how else should he think of Selene? The two of them had moved beyond friends and allies. "Girlfriend" was insulting, "lover," awkward. He wouldn't have flattered himself at all with this thought of possession, of a relationship at all without her permission, but hearing her reaction to his…injuries had made him realize one distinctly important truth.

She cared for him just as much as he did for her.

He had to move away from the burning helicopter, the smell of burning flesh an all-too familiar one after working in emergency rooms.

But despite his revulsion, he was beginning to feel hungry, even more than he had been yesterday. The little he had taken from Selene after being shot was gone completely, mostly because of his regeneration and the effort it had taken to subdue William.

"Are you ready to go?" Selene appeared at his side, accepting the long jacket he handed to her and donning it.

"Almost", he replied, staring meditatively into the flames of the wrecked aircraft. He turned to her. Her brown eyes danced, reflecting the firelight. "Where is the pendant?"

She blinked. "I left it in the lock," she said, looking at him strangely, "where William was kept. It should still be in the wall."

He nodded. "Which way?"

She looked at him curiously. "I'll show you." She led him through a partially submerged tunnel, all the way through, to a room that stank of dirty lycan, an oddly coffin-shaped cell with one small hole in the ceiling to let in air and light. In the wall on one side, just below the waterline, a mechanism cradled a metal disc, which in turned held Lucian's necklace. _Mine, now_, Michael thought. He extracted it from the wall, and removed it from the disc, which he shoved into his pocket. The pendant went back around his neck. He couldn't explain his attachment to the thing, especially since it had turned out to be nothing more than a key to an ancient zoo cell. But he still held Lucian's memories and those recollections that still sometimes came into his head demanded that he hold onto it. It represented something greater, although Michael had been far too pressed to delve into _why_, it was better, he felt, to have it on hand.

* * *

The snow that had capped the peak had disappeared hours before; the descent to the base meant warmer temperatures. But the change in climate did nothing to alleviate Selene's worries. The trek down the mountainside was so uneventful that she couldn't help but feeling that _something_ had to go wrong. She and Michael met up with no angry, vengeful immortals, no human police, no one. Of course, the fact that they were traveling in open day, as opposed to the comforting darkness that even the light-tolerant lycans preferred, was possibly a contributing factor to this peace. But as the sun started to set, the realization hit her. 

No one was coming.

The death toll of the past few days was astronomical, even with the history of a six hundred-year old war. The entire governing structure of the vampire nation had crumbled; the Elders were dead, Kraven was dead (thank God), the Council had been destroyed. Almost every high-ranking member of the Death Dealers other than herself had most likely been killed in the fight in the underground. The lycans must have also been in a state of shock and chaos; their leader had also been killed. All that was left of the legacy of the immortal leaders that had ruled for so long was gone. The Cleaner Samuel had revealed to her that Marcus had destroyed Ordoghaz and everyone in it. With Michael's apparent death still hanging over her at the time, she had not given that fact more than a second's thought. Now, however, she had time to think on it. So many people in the mansion had ridiculed her and despised her for her "peculiar" and belligerent behavior. So many of them had done nothing but swim in their own pleasures for decades, spending more time in hedonistic pursuits than mortals had in their entire lifetimes. But even so…

The place that had been her home for centuries was just…gone. She had known as soon as she had killed Viktor that there never really would be a place for her there again, but the knowledge that it was wrecked and empty was still strange to think about.

Selene stepped over a large branch on the forest floor. Down near the foot of mountain, it was much warmer. Still, the late autumn air held the promise of winter coming on. The nightfall that had draped over them like a blanket meant a deep temperature drop. She was not affected by the cold as greatly as he could be. But of course, she didn't know for certain. Best to ask him.

"Michael, I—" She turned to look at him, and stopped. His eyes were blackened, and his breath was heavy. How had she not noticed it? He was probably _starving._ The Change in him had never been properly sated, and the little bit of blood he had taken from her after the police had attacked him had certainly not been enough to quench a thirst probably tripled by his heavy injury and regeneration.

She walked back towards him. "Michael, you can't deny this anymore. You're going to need to feed, and soon. Otherwise, the hunger will overtake you. You could hurt people. You," she stopped, in order that he would listen to her, "you might hurt me, even."

Michael's posture changed immediately. His black eyes searched her face. After a long moment, he let out a breath. "What do I need to do?"

"Hunt," she said simply. "Change completely, and search for prey. You have instincts. Use them."

"But what about—"

"—There aren't humans around for kilometers," she interrupted him. "We're nowhere near a settlement. But places like these are full of animals."

He shifted, looking uncomfortable.

"Michael," she sighed, "you've killed before."

"That was different," he murmured, "William would have killed everyone, and Tanis's lycans would have killed _me_. And the ones in the castle…" He stopped speaking.

Selene looked at him curiously. "'The ones at the castle?'"

"They were going to hurt you," he answered.

The statement was so simple and yet so intimate. She wanted to kiss him, but held back; in his state of hunger, he was a danger even to her. "Michael, you have to learn to do this. It's in your nature. Now go."

The hybrid took a deep breath, and then slowly nodded.

* * *

Michael nodded. He shed his jacket, and shut his eyes. Not angry or stressed at the moment, it was a little harder to Change. However, the hunger that made his fingers shake helped him cross the threshold. When he opened his eyes again, Selene was looking straight at him, looking as if she was proud of his control. He let out a soft grunt, and turned on his heel, bounding into the dense cluster of trees. He turned, and saw Selene set down his jacket on the pebbled shore of the stream they had been following down the mountain. He turned again, and set off into the night. 

He had gone about half a mile into the woods, when he stopped. In the darkness, Michael felt his senses heighten. The trees around him teemed with nocturnal life. In the distance, wolves, _real_ wolves, sang in their eerie harmony. An owl hunted not far from where he was, probably for voles or shrews in the dirt. Michael breathed through his elongated fangs, listening and smelling for a sign of desirable prey.

For the first time in his own existence, the first time since becoming an immortal, he let go. He felt _prepared_, ready to become the predator. His own impulses combined with memories of Lucian hunting filled his head. He smelled the air, listened for signs…_there._ It was not far from him; Lucian's memories told him what he smelled was a young deer. He turned left and quietly moved through the trees, careful not to disturb anything that could make noise; a difficult feat among fallen autumn leaves. And then he stopped in a space between the foliage.

The young buck was alone in the clearing, grazing on the little bit of grass not yet destroyed by the oncoming seasonal chill. Michael held his breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. The deer lifted its head, sniffed the air, and lowered again to continue to eat. Michael could hear its pulse running, and the need to feed rose up in him. Against his will, a soft _growl_ began to build in Michael's throat. The deer's head snapped up in alarm and it poised itself to run.

But it was too late. Michael lunged forward, far faster than even the four-legged animal, and in a split second, the deer lay at his feet, its neck snapped. After a second or two of twitching, the thing died. It had never made a sound.

But Michael didn't stop to think of what a piteous sight the dead animal made. He let the carnivore in him rise up and he fell upon his quarry with abandon, sinking fangs into its throat. Fresh, hot blood gushed around his mouth. _This_ was what he had feared, to relish in the destruction of another living being. The doctor in him would have been horrified. Instead, the part of him that was human and conscious of what he was doing realized that this was nothing more than survival, nothing more than following instinct. There was no sin in this. This was far more "natural" than what he used to consider such – a granola bar and a cup of green tea. The crimson, coppery taste on his tongue was incredibly sweet.

When he was done, he sat up, feeling sated. He dragged the deer carcass to the side of the clearing and covered it with leaves; he didn't want to leave it out in the open. Carrion animals would find it and finish the job.

His energy level was incredibly high. The lagging exhaustion he'd felt since waking up in the helicopter was gone, replaced by a vitality he'd not felt since childhood. He breathed for a few moments, taking in this new vigor. He Changed back into his human form and wiped the excess blood from his face. Feeling exhilarated and almost high on it, Michael's pulse raced. _Where_ had this come from? The answer was simple: his immortal nature had required the kill, the abandonment of his inhibitions, and his acceptance what he had become. He had done just that, and in doing so had fully become a predator, capable of giving in to his instincts.

Selene would understand. She had been a hunter for six centuries. He wondered if she had ever reacted to a kill the way he had. _I'll ask her,_ he told himself; he looked around. The most obvious way to get back the where he had left Selene was by following his own scent back to her. As he followed his trail back, he forced himself to calm down, breathing slowly and trying to rein in his energy.

But he realized, as he quietly came upon her, that he needn't have bothered. In the same moment, he caught sight and scent of her; instantly, he was overwhelmed. He had never seen a more exquisite or tantalizing vision in his life.

The striking vampire knelt by the stream, absolutely naked. Her skin seemed to sparkle in the moonlight and in the cold steam emanated from her. Her leather lay abandoned at her side, and next to that, her gun. He smelled fresh blood near her, probably that of a small animal; so she had fed as well. Water dripped from her hair, sliding down her flawless skin in tiny rivulets.

Michael had never seen anything so incredibly perfect in his life.

His heart rate went up again. His mouth began to water. The _growl_ in the back of his throat that had only stopped after the death of the stag came back, soft and so low that not even she with her enhanced hearing seemed to detect it. The need he had felt just before feeding on the deer was nothing compared to the desire he had to lick every inch of her pale, gleaming flesh, to feel her against him. He had to force himself not to lunge at her like a beast. Instead, he stalked across the treeline, waiting for the right moment to approach, dark eyes unblinkingly watching her in the shadows.

* * *

Selene crouched by the stream. A dead, drained rabbit lay next to her, curled into a sleep-like position, a clean cut across its throat. The vampire washed the fresh blood from her fingers. But bent over the water, she caught sight of herself. Blood, mostly which had belonged to the proto-lycanthropic Cleaners, matted her hair. More blood, probably her own, had dried across her forehead, leaving a rusty brown powder. Disgusted, she shed her heavy trench coat, the corset, her boots, and her wrist guards. Finally, she stripped off her leather suit and began to wash in the freezing mountain spring water; standing, the water only came up halfway her legs, but she didn't care. Nor did the cold bother her half so much as the disgusting state she was in. The crusted gore came off easily and floated away. When she was clean to her satisfaction, she stepped back onto the bank, grabbing her suit. She had started to don it, when— 

_Crack,_ she heard a twig snap. Startled, Selene sprang up to her full height, grabbing her gun, and accidentally knocking the poor drained rabbit's body into the stream to float away. She stepped out of the shallow water onto the cold, pebbled ground. Her eyes turned blue. She certainly did not want to be stumbled upon in this state, either by mortal or immortal. Her recently increased strength be damned, her dignity protested a potential fight if she was going to be naked.

She held her breath, waiting for the invisible presence to appear. But nothing happened; nothing came out of the tree line. She strained to hear for anything, and heard only the breeze rustling through the leaves. _Crack_, to her left. She spun on her toe, pointing the gun to the source of the noise. A fox yipped and walked into view, then took one look at her and fled.

Selene shut her eyes and sighed. _Just a fox_. She turned back to face the stream and looked down at her suit. There was no hope for it, the damage caused by Marcus's wing was irreparable; she'd need to get a new one. _Or something else entirely,_ she mused while picking it up, _I'm not a Death Dealer anymore. Not really._ All the same, she turned it around in her hands, preparing to don it again.

A soft _growl_ behind her left ear startled her, but not so much as what happened next. A head of blond hair appeared in her peripheral vision. It was Michael. She tried to turn to look at him, but changed her mind when he began to nuzzle her neck, growling possessively. Hot, blood-scented breath spread across her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a pocket of warmth despite the cold. She was engulfed in Michael's comforting, sexy smell.

Selene's breath caught in her throat. Her gun fell from her loose fingers and tumbled to the ground. Whatever feral part of him that he had tried for days to ignore was coming out, and he was allowing that part of him to initiate contact. Contact they both needed, after the worry and pain, after the hurt.

Michael stopped the nuzzling and began kissing her throat, from the base of her shoulder, slowly up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She let out the softest of moans, and closed her eyes, knowing that they were glowing bright blue no longer out of wariness but from something much more instinctual. She dipped her head to the side, allowing him more access. But he had had enough of her neck. He twisted her whole body around and began to kiss her mouth, plundering it with his tongue. She opened her eyes, for only a second, and saw that his eyes were still his hybrid-form's inky black; he was watching her. He moved one incredibly strong hand down from her shoulder to her waist, stroking her lower belly, while his fingers on his other hand ran lightly up and down her hip. Her cold skin welcomed the contact and her nerves hummed at his ministrations.

Selene responded actively. This new, much more animalistic behavior of Michael's was making her far more aroused than she had expected she would ever be. Maybe it was the blood on his breath; maybe it was just that he was the one initiating, the one being the aggressor.

But she knew the truth. It was just _him._ His mere presence was having an aphrodisiacal affect on her; his smell, his eyes, and the way he paused for breath with every powerful kiss.

_He had been dead;_ the only thought that reached past her limbic system was this. _I had lost him; he was dead, right in front of me._ She shuddered, but from something that was the complete opposite of revulsion.

Not wasting time, she moved her hands from the back of his neck down to his trousers, and found that his enthusiasm matched her own.

_Well, he's certainly not dead now._ The wicked thought escaped her brain by passing through her fingers, which worked busily to undo his fly.

His hands were working as feverishly; they grabbed her hips firmly. He forcibly shoved her backwards into a tree not a full meter away from them. This aggressive action did not make her angry or hurt her. Instead, her excitement increased and she almost whimpered with frustration as her own impulses took over. Her body demanded fusion with his; she pulled herself up to his eye level and kissed him hungrily. Michael assisted her, lifting her higher by grabbing her thighs. This action elicited no thoughts on her part; instinct and desire dictated that her legs separate. He broke their kiss and looked straight into her eyes. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he didn't move; he just continued to stare at her as if spellbound. What was he waiting for? A small, hungry cry escaped her throat. Hearing this, he finally acted; he pushed his hips forward into hers, entering her. Selene inhaled sharply and she closed her eyes, wrapping her legs around him.

The next moments became a blur as they joined completely; he moved slowly at first, making sure she was comfortable. She moaned and he responded. Building speed, he thrust into her repeatedly, meeting her gasps with growls. The tree against her back actually shook, their combined immortal strengths stressing it with every recurrence. The cold was forgotten and the rough, harsh bark of the tree against her back was ignored. Her fingers dug into the back of his shoulders, clawing the muscular flesh that moved there. His hot breath on her neck was in time with her own panting into his ear.

"Michael," she whispered his name, repeating it softly with every wave of pleasure, although out of encouragement for him or just her own need to say it, she didn't know. She didn't think, just _felt_ every sensation as if it would last forever. Pressure and heat began to build in the muscles that gripped him between her legs, threatening to contract. Incoherent thoughts she couldn't utter played in her head. _Oh God._ She pulled her arms around him firmly, binding her legs around his waist even more fixedly than she had thought herself capable of. _So close_. "Michael" He hissed into her hair and his hands gripped her unyieldingly. _Keep going._ "_Michael_." He pushed again. This was it; her eyes rolled up with intense pleasure. _Now._ "_Mich-unh!_" Her breathing momentarily stopped, as her orgasm hit her. Her hips thrust forward of their own accord, and her back arched against the obliging tree. She held him even tighter, clenching him, burying him deeper within her. His climax hit as well, and he let out a roar as he poured into her. She inhaled sharply as his warmth exploded within her belly. They hyperventilated into each other's necks for a few moments, their hearts racing and their bodies shaking. He left a small kiss on her jaw.

Eventually, Michael loosened his tight grip on her, and her feet touched the frozen ground. But she didn't want to let go of him completely. She embraced him, resting her head on his chest. Trembling, they slowly sank to the ground, temporarily stunned, kneeling amongst the fallen, crumbling leaves.

* * *

Michael couldn't believe his own behavior. It must have been the rush and the excitement of the hunt, he told himself that had made him want her so badly at that moment. But he knew the truth: he had wanted her nonstop since seeing her in the subway. The difference was simply that he now had the energy to act on it. Their lovemaking in the empty warehouse had been exquisite and slow, but the instincts that had showed him how to hunt and feed had also wanted something else equally powerful in regards to Selene. What they had just done was primal and instinctive. 

And the singularly most erotic experience of his young life.

They knelt together on the ground, his hands around her waist. He looked into her eyes. They were a luminescent blue and stared at him unflinchingly. He suddenly felt guilty. Had he forced her into it? He didn't think so; to say she had responded positively would be an understatement. Still, he couldn't help but think he had been too enthusiastic.

"Are…" he had to breathe, "Are you alright?"

She blinked, as if surprised by the question. "I'm—" She lost her balance slightly, and gripped his arm to stable herself. She gave a small gasp of laughter. "I'm very well." She looked at him, a hidden smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "That was…interesting."

Michael's pounding heart twisted in his chest. What did that mean, _interesting_? Awful? Unwelcome?

She obviously could tell what was on his mind. Her smile widened and she kissed his lips softly. Then she pulled herself closer to whisper in his ear.

"_Amazing_," she murmured. Her breath tickled his ear and in response he planted a soft kiss on her clavicle. Selene hummed in pleasure and her grip on his arms tightened.

Needing no more encouragement than that, Michael moved his mouth lower, over one of her breasts, and then the other. Selene threw her head back as he lavished attention on her; her cool skin flushed and she quietly gasped when he licked the sensitive skin there. Her fingernails actually were digging into his triceps to the point of being painful but certainly he didn't care. He slowly made his way back up to her neck, and stopped to look at her face. Her eyes were shut and her cheeks were flushed; she looked like she was enjoying this. After a few seconds, she let out a soft whine in the back of her throat, protesting his pause. She _was_ enjoying this. He pressed a firm kiss into the hollow of her throat. Then he shifted his weight, pulling them both to the ground. He ran his fingers slowly over her ribcage, down her belly, and lower; he covered her intake of breath with a kiss.

This time, he promised himself, he would be much more of a gentleman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**: Ruins

**Author**: Terraphim

**Rating**: Mature for sexuality and violence

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Selene, Michael, or any of the other characters mentioned. They are owned by Len & Co. and Screen Gems. I _do_ wish I owned Michael, but that's for my own nefarious reasons…

**Spoiler Warning**: _Underworld_ and _Underworld Evolution_

**Summary**: Selene and Michael begin the difficult process of aftermath.

* * *

Carbonized wood crumbled beneath her boots as Selene walked through the ruins of Ordoghaz. The vast house's remains were few: the brick chimneys, metal cabinets filled with ash, remnants of papers and computers, and even some support beams that hadn't been totally destroyed. Some charred bones were found, but the few bodies that had not completely crumbled to dust were unidentifiable.

Selene stood in the middle of the destruction, an unreadable expression on her face. The harsh autumn wind slaked its icy claws through her hair and fingers, tossing ashes around her like a grey aura.

There was nothing left. There had been fourteen centuries of immortal history in the house and it was all _gone._

"Selene–" she heard Michael say.

She looked over at him.

Michael was watching her, concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?" He asked simply.

She nodded. "I'll be fine," she said.

Forcing herself to wrench her eyes away from the destruction, she surveyed the rest of property. A good portion of the garage still stood and through the dust and shadow she could see at least two intact cars.

_Good_, she thought, _at least we won't have to walk anymore for a while_. Her energy had been depleted by the almost sixty mile trudge that she and Michael had carried out over the last two days and she knew he was just as exhausted.

Turning towards the treeline at the front of the property, Selene saw something else that had survived the blaze that had claimed most of the property – the gatehouse, half-hidden by foliage, was intact, untouched by fire.

She pointed towards the gatehouse. "Come on." They made their way in the pre-dawn darkness to the small building. It was locked, but proved unchallenging to Selene, who kicked it open. The lights turned on automatically. "Good, the generator is still working."

Built almost like a lighthouse, the Ordoghaz gatehouse's ground floor served as nothing but access to the stairs that led to the higher levels. Three stories in all, the building had a tightly-wound staircase. Selene ignored the second level as well, leading Michael up to the highest floor, a finished attic.

There was no one there. The mansion had been in a state of lock-down when she and the other Death Dealers had accompanied Viktor to the underground to fight the lycans; the vampires left behind in the house had been so terrified at the news of Amelia's assassination that the Death Dealers normally assigned to the gatehouse had been inside the main building as well; they had been trapped there when Marcus began his massacre.

_They should have stayed in here_, Selene thought grimly. _Maybe then they might have stayed alive_.

* * *

Michael reached the landing of the attic behind Selene. He was surprised by what he found.

"Why is this here when the house was twenty-five meters away?" he asked her. "Did someone live here?"

The attic was divided into three different parts: a bathroom, a closet, and a room that appeared to be filled with sofas and a television set.

Selene shook her head. "No one lived here; not for decades, at any rate. This used to be the gatehouse. A servant would live here and welcome guests that arrived on horseback or in carriages."

_That's more than decades_, Michael thought, although he didn't say that. "Why does it look so…residential?"

She sighed. "About thirty years ago, a group of the older, _civilian_," she spat the word out bitterly, "vampires, the ones that never did anything useful, petitioned to Kraven to keep the Death Dealers from tracking our 'filth' of the battle into the house. He agreed and demanded that the unused gatehouse be converted into a place where we could get cleaned up after fights. They were ashamed of the soldiers. They didn't want to have to see us. As the years passed, it became a place that the younger Death Dealers liked to pass the time in. They were the ones that brought in the television."

"What's downstairs?"

"More practical facilities; there's a small infirmary and an armory, as well as more storage units for the Ziodex blood. So we can rest here for a few days and re-supply. There's blood, weapons and clothing. From here we can move on."

Michael didn't want to play Twenty Questions with Selene, but he had one more query.

"Move on to where?" He knew that they would have to be on the move again, and soon. From what Selene had told him, just because the Old World coven had been destroyed and Marcus killed, it did not mean that they were safe. The remaining vampires would still be after them for killing the two male Elders, the humans were still after _him,_ and the lycans would most certainly attempt to kill them if they had the chance.

Selene looked even more forlorn at his question. "I don't know," she said softly.

She sounded so vulnerable; Michael pulled her into a hug to which she surrendered gratefully, her head resting on his shoulder. He kissed her temple and rocked her slowly like a child needing comfort. He marveled that she let him hold her this way; it was a true testament to how much her emotional barriers had come down for him. They stood that way for several minutes, not saying anything, just holding each other.

When she finally broke away, Selene's posture was straighter, and when she spoke, her voice was stronger.

"The bathroom has a shower," she said, sounding much more like the cool, confident woman he had met a week ago. "I'll go find you something to wear."

As exhausted as he was, the thought of actually _showering_ was an even more welcome thought than sleep. The hygiene-minded doctor in him was screaming at the state that he was in, covered in mud, blood, and God knew what else. As Selene went back down the stairs, he headed to the bathroom, divulging himself of his jacket, boots, and pants in record time.

Michael felt he was washing off a year's worth of filth instead of just a few days of it. The hot water swirling down the drain at his feet was at first a muddy red as the blood of several lycans and one very dead hybrid Elder came off. _Thank God this soap is unscented,_ he thought; even without a ridiculous smell on the soap, its aroma was more powerful than any cleanser Michael had ever smelled, a by-product of his new abilities perhaps? _Of course_, he reasoned, Death Dealers tailing lycans would need as little personal scent as possible. _How did Selene manage to not get killed centuries ago, then?_ Her personal scent was intoxicating to him and had nearly driven him crazy with want on more than one occasion, and only his self-control had kept him from attacking her. _Then what do you call what happened with the tree, Corvin?_

Michael had always considered honestly the best policy.

_Really, really good sex._

Still under the almost scalding deluge, Michael grinned as he inspected his hands. His fingernails, blessedly human-looking, were still crusted with blood, dirt, and even a little paint from his Pollack impersonation in the abandoned warehouse, when he had done everything in his power to protect Selene from the sunlight.

_Now she doesn't even need that_, he thought. Selene had made very little of her sudden tolerance to daylight after her initial reaction. She had accepted it quickly and moved on. Watching her, he had realized that he, too, was becoming accustomed to the astounding changes in his life over the last week, and far more quickly than he could have anticipated.

_As if I could have seen this coming_. He half-smiled under the water, laughing at naïve he must have been, only a few days before.

Even with the water flooding around his ears, he still heard her come back up the stairs and enter the bathroom. Behind the partition blocking him from seeing her, he heard her set something down and leave again.

When he was finally clean, he found what she had left: a pair of dark brown cotton slacks and a black t-shirt. He looked down with distaste at the pants he had shed. They were disgusting, stiff with grime and organic materials from the immortals he had fought and the sewers and pits he had fought them in. _They can't be saved_, he thought, _I'll just throw them out._

Having discarded of his old clothing and donned his new, Michael left the bathroom, feeling even more renewed than when he had woken up whole and healed in the Cleaners' helicopter. Hearing Selene in the other room, he walked in to find the largest sofa pulled out into a bed. It was set up completely, complete with pillows and a blanket. Two packs of blood lay on the coffee table next to the bed. Selene was taking inventory of a pile of weapons she must have collected from the floor below, a group of magazines at her side. She looked up when he entered.

"Good," she said, ejecting a clip from the gun she was holding. She set the weapon down and walked over to him. "I'm going to go clean up. You get some rest."

Before he could say a word, she was exiting the room, shedding herself of her corset as she walked. A few seconds later, Michael could hear the water running again. A _screech_ of something metallic startled Michael. Heavy metal shutters were automatically covering the windows, shrouding the room in even more complete darkness; day was coming and the vampires had created a system that automatically protected them from the sun. Yet despite the even deeper darkness, Michael could still see; this must have been another sense heightened by his new immortality.

The thought made Michael yawn. _It's funny_, he thought. _I guess if anyone has to go suddenly nocturnal, it should be a doctor. We're awake at night anyway._ At least _this_ aspect of his strange new hybrid nature wouldn't be such an adjustment.

He sat on the bed and looked at the blood packs. He was hungry, but not enough to take any more time away from sleeping. He lay down on the bed and was asleep before he could shift to a more comfortable position.

* * *

Selene took even longer in the shower than Michael did. She scrubbed every inch of herself, until her white skin was a raw red, and still she scoured herself.

It was therapeutic.

The sight of the ruined mansion had disturbed her far more than she had expected. It was really a symbol of the life she had left behind, the life she _knew_ she would be leaving behind, the moment she had picked up Viktor's abandoned sword.

Still, a small part of her had hoped for understanding. _Very small_, she thought. The fact was, though, that she _didn't_ miss her old life. She had not realized it, but she had spent the last six hundred years in such a deep melancholy and routine that it had taken the cataclysmic truth about Viktor to shake her from it.

_No, it was before that_, her rationality told her, _it was the moment Viktor told you to gain your absolution by killing Michael._ Viktor had sealed the deal of her defection, but even before she had learned he was the one responsible for the slaughter of her family. In a split second of dilemma, her life had changed focus from one of living for the reliable kill and had moved on to an unknown future. She had shed her routine, her predictability, and had accepted the inevitable expulsion from the life she had known, all for Michael. And she didn't regret it.

It was amazing to Selene, the lengths she was prepared to go to protect him, to ensure that he remain alive and at her side. It stunned her, how much she had let him in emotionally.

_And other ways,_ he brain told her; heat that had nothing to do with the shower rose up in her face. She quickly shoved such thoughts to the back of her mind.

She drew strength from him; the latest example of this had been the simple hug they had shared in the hallway. It had restored her in a way that not even fresh blood could. And after seeing the wreckage of her former home – a manifestation of her former life – she had needed that comfort that he offered. It reminded her of why she gave it up in the first place and she had been in peace, if only for a moment.

_How_ had he done it? Michael, too, had lost everything of the life he had led, and yet he was the one offering comfort to her? This astounded Selene more than anything else.

She shut off the water and toweled herself off, and then donned the only clothing she had found that wasn't leather: a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved black cotton shirt. As she dressed, a wave of bone-deep weariness struck her, reminding her she hadn't had a full day's sleep in more than a week. The amount of _sleep_ she'd gotten with Michael in the abandoned warehouse had been minimal and…interrupted.

Several times.

_Stop that!_ Selene had to tell herself. What was _wrong_ with her, thinking like this? She had never, in her many centuries, been this preoccupied with a lover.

Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, Selene emerged from the bathroom, her hair still dripping. She went into the room where she had set up a place for them to sleep, and the sight she found made her almost smile.

Michael was sleeping on his side, chin curled into his chest, breathing softly. He had not even bothered with the blanket, which still lay neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

She almost didn't want to disturb this peaceful picture, but her own exhaustion won out. She gingerly joined him on the bed, pulling the blanket up and over them both as she lay down. Michael didn't wake or stir. Selene settled against the sheets and closed her eyes.

_Selene was in a room with stone walls that were covered in ornate tapestries. A bright fire warmed the air and helped the weak winter light streaming from the windows to illuminate the chamber. She stared moodily into the flames, watching them dance and listening to the wood crackle._

_A woman ran into the room, her hair in wild disarray and her dress slipping off one shoulder. "My lord!" She yelled excitedly. "My lord, it's time!" She beckoned Selene to follow and ran out of the room again._

_Not of her own accord, Selene walked in the direction the eager woman had run, to another chamber. This one was closed off, the windows covered in thick curtains. The air was thick, almost strangling. A bed covered in even more curtains was situated right in the middle. There were women everywhere, bustling about with bowls of water or holding lengths of cloth. A solitary lady was on the bed, her belly swollen with pregnancy and her legs spread with impending delivery. Despite the strained, pained look on her face and the sweat that covered her, she still smiled when she saw Selene, who took her hand._

_The woman on the bed suddenly let out a cry and her head fell back. Her red hair tangled in her face and the lord whose head Selene was in smoothed it back with his hand, exposing a signet ring of lacy gold in an ornate setting around a C._

…_The women around the laboring lady all held their breaths. The midwife had her hands between the lady's legs, guiding an infant into the world. For a few tense seconds, the boy-child did not cry nor make a sound of any kind. The midwife gently smacked the child._

_A squall filled the dense air. The mother laughed at the sound of her child's voice, taking in deep breaths._

_Selene's host's eyes began to tear, as the baby boy was gently wiped down, wrapped into a tight bundle, and handed to his mother. She cooed over the child for a moment and then looked up at Selene._

"_Here, my lord," she said. "Here is you son and heir; just as we hoped." Her smile brightened the dark room._

"_His name is Marcus," Selene said._

_The woman's smile faltered a little but held. "Appropriate for the son of a warlord," she replied, holding her child closer to her bosom. Suddenly, her belly rippled and she let out another laborious cry._

"_Another one is coming!" cried the midwife. An attendant took the born child from his mother, placing him in a cradle not far from her._

"_It's bad luck to have twins!" another attendant hissed at the midwife, who quickly hushed her._

…_The second child took much longer than its brother. After several minutes, the woman in labor began to cry with exhaustion. _

"_I can't do this anymore!" the mother keened._

…_After a few more minutes of wails, the other twin came out, crying his dissatisfaction at the bright, cold world he had been pushed out into. After being wiped down, he joined his brother in the cradle._

"_William." Selene declared, "After his grandfather."_

_The mother smiled again, exhaustion painting her features. The attendants removed her blood and sweat-soaked blankets and sheet, replacing them with fresh ones, all the while allowing her to remain lying down._

_Selene walked to the cradle holding the newborns. They were both tiny, exactly the same size, their skulls already covered with a fine orange down; they'd have their mother's hair._

…_The scene in Selene's head shifted to a new place, a brightly-lit room, where the redheaded woman was helping one of her children – now a toddler – learn to walk. Selene laughed with the walking boy's twin in her arms._

"_Don't worry, Marcus," she said, "Soon you'll be walking as well, and then your mother and I won't be able to keep up with you and your brother. You'll take the world by storm, both of you." The child looked up at her, blue eyes piercingly intelligent; then he began to fuss, reaching out for his brother on the floor._

Selene's eyes flew open. _So I did get some of your memories_, Selene thought unhappily. _Damn you, Corvinus. _Over the past few days, she had had little flashes of unfamiliar recollections that she had guessed had belonged to the first immortal, but she had been uncertain about her inheritance of anything lucid. _Perfect_, she thought, _as if thing weren't already complicated._ She sighed quietly. There was nothing she could do about it now, she reasoned, so she might as well go back to sleep.

It was then that her awareness shifted back to the present; she was in the Ordoghaz gatehouse, lying in bed with Michael. At some point, he must have woken enough to pull her to him; his arms were around her waist and she had placed her arm around his torso. It was a strange position to find herself in yet she did nothing to adjust it; she didn't want to.

She shifted slightly in his arms, resting her head on his chest; Selene couldn't believe how comfortable this was, after so many centuries of sleeping alone.

In the darkness, her eyes fell on the pendant Michael still wore. Her thoughts went back to the scene she had witnessed between him and his ancestor; how Corvinus had not seemed to care when she had returned to his office without Michael, grief obvious in her body language. The old man had not even asked about Michael, only the damned key. He must have accustomed himself to his children killing each other, to be able to show no emotion when it had happened again.

And in the end Marcus, his firstborn, had killed _him_. That must have been just as, if not more, agonizing, because until the end, Corvinus had done everything to protect his sons from her. _And yet he gave me the strength to do what he could not; was that righteousness in his mind, after the lecture he gave me on what I've done?_

Still, her own weak argument lingered in her head: "_Anything I've done can be laid at your feet…"_ Did she really believe that?

Plagued by her thoughts, it was a long time before Selene was able to sleep again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 1**: Impulses

**Author:** Terraphim

**Rating**: Mature for sexuality and violence. This chapter is PG-13 at it's hardest.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Selene, Michael, or any of the other characters mentioned. They are owned by Len & Co. and Screen Gems. I _do_ wish I owned Michael, but that's for my own nefarious reasons…

**Author's Note:** I am so incredibly sorry about how long this took. I'm currently, concurrently workingo n chapter 4, 5, 6, and the epilogue (which will probably end up being around Chapters 14 or 15). Thank you for being so patient with me. The chapter was written three times. I hated the first two drafts. I jope you're not disappointed.

* * *

It was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon when Michael opened his eyes again. At first, he started at the unfamiliar surroundings, only coming to his senses and the present when he glanced to his side and saw his vampire companion fast asleep next to him. Realization came rushing back: he and Selene had arrived there after two days of an (nearly) uninterrupted trek down a mountain and halfway across the countryside. They were in a building that had once been the hang-out spot of those who now either dead in the demolished mansion or out hunting for them at that moment.

_Why are we here?_ His brain demanded. _Why on earth would she take us here?_

But he already knew the answer to that. This had been Selene's home for who knew how long. With the knowledge of Viktor's deceit and the weight of his death, Michael knew she was seeking either comfort from the remains of the place that had so long turned a blind eye to the breaking of the edicts that Viktor himself had meted out, or she was in search of a kind of closure. Either way, he understood. Her explanation of gathering supplies, he knew, was nothing more than a convenient excuse for returning to this place of ash and death. She had wanted to see it; it was that simple. But obviously, she had underestimated what her witnessing the waste and destruction of her former home would do to her emotions.

Michael sighed and twisted, so that he lay on his side on the rather uncomfortable mattress, facing towards the woman next to him. It was then that he realized she wasn't sleeping as peacefully as he had thought. Her beautiful face was contorted into an expression of…what? Confusion? Despair? Even a look of joy, something he was decidedly _not_ accustomed to seeing on her, flitted across her features before returning to something much more characteristic of the person he had become so close to in so short a time. But the most prevalent look on her face was that of pain. So much pain…

_What is she dreaming about?_ He wondered, panicking slightly. _Should I wake her up?_

She started to cry, making a piteous noise in the back of her throat as a few tears escaped from her tightly closed eyes.

"Hey," he said quietly, running a hand gently through her hair and down her back. "Hey, it's okay."

Selene didn't wake, but her breathing became normal and her expression returned to a more peaceful version of itself. He continued to stroke her back, following the defined vertebrae gently so as not to wake her. When he eventually stopped, she let out a breath of protestation and moved against him. Smiling in the dark, Michael wrapped an arm round her and allowed himself to doze. He would ask her about the dream when he woke up…

He opened his eyes again several hours later when a metallic screech heralded the return of the night, the tight steel shutters that prevented any ultraviolet light from entering opening to reveal a cloudy night sky. Selene slept through it, either used to such an occurrence or just too exhausted to care. Michael suspected it was the latter – certainly the physically and emotionally stressful happenings of the last week had taken a toll to some extent. Her shoulders had dropped at every casual mentioning of Viktor especially. That bastard had lied so much that Michael knew with his death a sort of vacuum of purpose had been created in Selene. Her admittance of her not knowing what next to do had been a moment of true vulnerability for her. Michael suspected that before this mess and the truth of Viktor's betrayal was discovered, that Selene had prided herself on that sense of meaning that came from being a Death Dealer. This theory was more and more being confirmed for Michael; her disdain for the "civilian" vampires of the destroyed coven and her interaction with Tanis had made him see how isolated she had been even from her own kind, so engrossed in her mission to end the lycans. And her near-religious way of speaking about Viktor before finding out the truth about him had pointed to that isolation. That kind of blind devotion did not normally come with an affectionate relationship and she had seemed nothing but annoyed with her fellows.

But she _had_ learned the truth, from another rat bastard vampire Just the thought of the dead Elder made Michael angry. The conflicting mix of her memories of idolizing and admiring Viktor and the all-too potent, raw ones that replayed the moment she had learned the truth about the death of her family had been transferred to Michael when she had bitten him on the freezing floor of the lycan den. They had lingered in his head, the pain of it tripling the physical pain of his final lycanthropic transformation. It had been that, for the most part, with a bit of Lucian's own hatred thrown in, that had inspired his rather graceless, if deserved, attack on the late vampire Elder. His thoughts had been clear and hard as diamonds, a succession of fear-driven impulses, flashes of memory adding to the rapid succession of emotions that had filtered through his overloaded brain.

_Fear, pain, hurt. It's HIS fault. He hit her. He threw me through the wall. Who is he? Viktor. Vampire. "Elder". He loved Sonja. He KILLED Sonja. He loves Selene. So what happens next? "They'll kill you too, just for helping me." "I know." Lucian said...oh God. Selene._

The next thing he had known, he had been back in the sparse, cold room that he had been shot in, where she had bitten him, facing off against the much older and far more combat-experienced man, before shoving him into the wider, water-filled room. It had been a stupid move, in hindsight, but—

_I'd do it again._

He looked at Selene, curled up against him, and realized that her fingers were wrapped around the pendant. It almost looked like she had studied it and had fallen asleep doing so. He had done this enough himself to know the details of it without even looking – how it was far too heavy to be pure gold despite its rich color and how the odd geometric shapes surrounding the green center stone looked like an ancient design that in all likelihood meant nothing at all. It had occurred to Michael how often Lucian had studied the thing, the only token of the woman he had loved he had left. He wondered if the lycan master had ever wondered what the mechanism that snapped open and shut was for, had ever wondered if Sonja had known. Had she known what it was for? Was that something her father would have shared with her?

_Probably not_, Michael decided. From what he had learned from various people about the personality of Viktor, Michael figured that the man had been no closer to his natural daughter than he had been to Selene – merely a distant, unapproachable man that parceled down affection when it suited his own needs.

His second-hand memories of Sonja didn't include any of interaction with her father at all. In fact, of the memories inherited from Lucian, only Sonja's execution showed any kind of relationship between the vampire Elder and his daughter. Lucian's memories had included separate recollections of both people; one of Viktor that especially stood out was an occasion of the Elder presiding over the "chastisement" (Viktor's word) of a slave that had accidentally injured his master's arm while helping the vampire don his Death Dealer armor. Other memories of Viktor were similar. Memories of Sonja mostly were much more peaceful. Sometimes it was her just talking or laughing. Several were of her sitting at the end of a long table, speaking animatedly about _something_, although Michael could not tell what. Only one recollection showed her angry, or perhaps it was irritated. Her eyes (normally a light brown-green, Michael could glean) glowed the same eerie blue that Selene's did on occasion and her fangs were bared. From the view of the memory, Michael thought that she must have been arguing with Lucian. This concept made their near-epic love story more credible – they had argued, had made love by way of reconciliation, had had moments of doubt, and had spent simple, quiet moments together, merely enjoying one another's company.

Selene had explained, in on the drive from the abandoned warehouse to interrogate Tanis, that for those unskilled in memory passing, what was transferred depended almost solely on the emotional state of the donor. That's why most of the memories inherited from Lucian were ones of Sonja; she was what he thought of most of the time. The moments of her execution at Viktor's order, of Lucian's escape into the night air, had been the start of the centuries-long war. At least, Michael assumed this was the reason. He couldn't be sure. What he did know was that Lucian's hope had been that Michael would be the last Corvinus candidate, would be the one whose blood would end the war and save the lycan species. When the lycan had sunk his teeth into Michael, he had hoped that this would herald the end of that war.

Luckily, these terrible memories with their violent accompaniment of emotions had subsided to a slow trickle rather than a flood. The memories of both Lucian and Selene had become more settled in his brain, no longer jostling with his own consciousness. But they still remained. Sometimes, a memory from one of them would surface, hitting Michael with a blast of external, inexplicable pain, or anger, or even the occasional blasts of happiness, all of which made him want to plant his head in the snow in an attempt to numb the onslaught of feelings that were not his in the first place. He was attempting to develop a technique to suppress them, although he could not yet say if he was approaching success. But he suspected that, like they had already begun to do, the memories would eventually move to the back of his mind.

Or he could just ask Selene. But he felt so foolish, so _young_, asking questions of her all the time. She handled his enquiries patiently enough, but he still wondered if he annoyed her with the constant _asking_. He already had a library of questions, most of which he would never ask, just to keep from looking like a moron. Most of them centered around one main theme. _I'm never going to get the hang of all of this_, he would think miserably, and then remember an important little fact about his new life. _Oh yeah. I've got time. I'm immortal._

_That_ was, without a doubt, the scariest fucking thing about all of this. Everything else – lycans, vampires, the fact that he was now a fugitive from the law – was _nothing_ compared to the sheer overwhelming knowledge that barring more foul play from ugly bat monsters or possibly a nuclear blast, he was never going to die.

Ever.

_Holy shit._

He was never going to age; never suffer the broken hips, arthritis, or even gray hair of maturity. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to die, but this concept was frightening simply because he, like everyone else on the planet, had been preparing for it since childhood. And now he would never have to go through all that.

He looked at Selene again. She talked about centuries so nonchalantly, like they were nothing at all. And for her, they _weren't_, simply increments of time by which her life was measured, like years had been for him.

Michael wondered what he could be like in a century or two. The immortals that he had interacted with so far – Selene, Lucian, and Tanis mainly – didn't act like he would have expected people who had lived for hundreds of years to act. Sure, there was that indefinable aura of the wisdom that someone would need to develop over such a long time, but more than that, there was this confidence, this sense of "I know something you don't know" that all three (especially Tanis, although Michael suspected that was his personality anyway), had given off. Would he gain that attitude? Did all immortals have it? Corvinus's personality had seemed to consist entirely of that assurance, but he had seemed amazingly blind to the big picture.

In his arms, Selene began to stir. She raised her head, looking around at first as if confused. Like he did, she needed to remind herself where they were. When she remembered, she dropped her head again on the pillow.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hello," she responded even more quietly. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long; the sun just set."

Burying her face in his shoulder, she nodded.

"Hey," he said, combing his fingers in her hair. "What happened?"

She looked up at him, a miserable look on her face. "I had a…dream, about the twins."

He furrowed his brow. "Your nieces?"

Her head shook slightly. "I wish."

It took him a moment to realize whom she was talking about, and then it all clicked into place. The _Corvinus_ twins, Marcus and William, the sons of the man his own thoughts had just dwelled upon.

And the men, the _things_, they had killed.

"Why did you hesitate before you said 'dream'?" he asked, but as he did, he realized why she had. He winced. "Selene…"

"I didn't know, until then." She looked like she was going to be sick.

"What was the dr…the memory of?"

"Their _birth_," she said softly. "And their first steps. It was _fascinating_ but sickening at the same time."

_The birth itself or who was being born?_ He refrained from asking this. "You saw it through _his_ eyes?" Michael asked, too uncomfortable to say his ancestor's name.

Selene nodded. "He was thrilled," she said, looking like her thoughts had led her far away. "Twin sons – a blessing even as the midwives whispered of curses."

Michael was puzzled. "I don't understand."

She blinked and suddenly looked more focused. "Twins," she said, "were considered to be bad luck, an ill omen for the coming times." She snorted derisively. "I guess those superstitious old women were right in this case."

Michael thought for a moment about this. In the hospital, he had only once been present at the birth of twins. All he really remembered of the experience was wondering how the mother had found the strength to deliver two children, when so many women were wiped exhausted just bringing one into the world. "How'd that start?"

Selene let out another sarcastic laugh. "I have no idea. The unfounded fear of anything unnatural was rampant back then. I never fell for it, though." She let out a sigh. "I remember being so _angry_ with the woman who helped my sister deliver her daughters. She actually yelled at Grace, who was still sweating and bleeding on the bed, that she had 'brought down the devil' in our village. She strung these ridiculous amulets around the girls' necks, all the while muttering about twins and curses."

He gave her the briefest of smiles, easily picturing this much younger Selene, her quickly losing patience with the people that wasted her time. "How old were you? When they were born?"

"Seventeen," she shut her eyes, as if embarrassed that she had ever been such an age. "Anyway, I can't even fathom what kind of memories Corvinus passed to me, or how many."

"What do you think triggered it?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I have no idea. It could be the timing, but I really don't know."

When _Selene_ had bitten him, penetrating his throat with her fangs, albeit more tenderly than Lucian had, her thoughts were of Viktor's machinations on that stormy night he killed her family. In her brain, the holes in the story had been filled; the vague, unconscious recollections of the worst night of her life rushing back to her in full force. This mental anguish had passed from her brain into Michael's blood, the vampiric strain of his ancestor's virus rushing through his veins with it.

Jesus, it was no _wonder_ his first cognizant thought upon opening his eyes as a hybrid had been to kill Viktor. The rush of jumbled, chaotic thoughts that weren't his had made him view the Elder with an all-consuming loathing.

Alexander Corvinus was a different case entirely. If age had anything to do with the clarity of blood memories, as Selene had alluded to, than it was possible that she would be getting completely lucid recollections from his ancient ancestor. Who knew what he had passed to her in the moments before his death?

He had called her "the future"; had he also given her the past? It was a frightening thought, for her sake.

* * *

Selene saw that Michael had outright concern on his face. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

She smiled softly. "I'll be fine," she assured him. "It's just one more change to adjust to."

"But if you got _his_ memories, how can we be sure that—"

"It's fine," she repeated. "I'm not even getting them when I'm awake."

He did not look convinced. If anything, he looked even more worried.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I just…_Alexander_ was very old, right?"

"He was at least fifteen hundred," she told him. "I'm not sure of the date—"

"Exactly," Michael replied. "That's a lot of time, a lot of memories. Who knows what he gave to you? It's overwhelming…"

At that, Selene realized what was troubling him. His own experience with blood memories had been decidedly unpleasant for him. "Michael, I understand what you went through. But you got used to them and—"

"No. It's not that," he said. "All I saw, again and again, was Sonja burning. For the first two days, that was pretty much _all_ I saw. Torture, pain, and fire. And that was from a man who was _seven hundred_ years younger than Corvinus. And he was a warlord. And the father of those _psychopaths_. I can't even..." He grabbed her shoulder, as if he was to yank her out of harm's way. "I watched you having that dream. That was probably one of the more pleasant ones, and you looked like you were in excruciating pain." He shook his head and cupped the side of her face with his hand – the side that had been scorched by the sun only days before. "I'm relieved you can't burn like that anymore. But not everything he gave you is as beneficial."

By the time he reached the end of his speech, Selene was stunned, like she had been hit by a truck. It was as if he had read her own worries without her even having to utter them. But beyond even that, the earnest expression on his face undid her entirely.

"I'm alright, Michael. I really am." She tried to say this in a sure tone, and would have succeeded, if not for her staggering awareness of this man's concern. Her voice betrayed her, dictated by her surprise at how protective he was of her.

Her attempt at verbally assuring him failing completely, she grabbed the fingers that continued to touch her face and stared their owner in the eye. _Believe me_, _Michael_, she thought. _I am worried about this, but not as much as I am about our multitudes of other problems._

He nodded as if he had heard her. Selene half expected him to utter an "I know."

Instead, he ran his thumb along her mouth and whispered, "We're going to be okay, Selene."

She nodded, more out of hope than actual agreement. _We could still die – a year from now, tomorrow. Who knows? _

Michael continued to gently caress the side of her face. She pressed against his hand, all the while keeping eye contact with him. The two stared at each other for several long minutes. His green eyes darkened and she pulled him to her for a real kiss.

They undressed each other slowly, never breaking eye or lip contact for more than the seconds it required to discard their shirts. As she drew her legs around his hips and felt the mattress against her back, it occurred to Selene that this was the first time they were making love on an actual bed, as opposed to the convenient surfaces they adapted for such a use. This unexpectedly appreciated element added a sense of validity to their union, and she let out a gasp of a laugh against his mouth at the thought. Or perhaps it was a reaction to his touch. Whatever the reason was, it hardly mattered, as it was a long time before she had another rational thought again.

* * *

"We can't stay here." She said it so softly that Michael at first wondered I he had just imagined it.

He nodded into her dark hair, but said nothing. Neither of them moved.

"I know I said that we'd be safe here for a few days, but I think that we should get moving to stay ahead of…" Her voice trailed off, but she spoke again. "We need to go soon," she continued to whisper.

"Yeah," he agreed, just as quietly.

Still, neither of them stirred. Michael made no attempt to release her from his arms, nor did Selene seem to make any effort to free herself. Long after their heart rates and breathing had returned to a more normal rhythm, they stayed in the bed, unwilling to move from their temporary haven with each other and into the cold, brutal world that wanted them both very dead.

But they knew they couldn't stay there; until they were certain that they were no longer being hunted, they couldn't stay _anywhere_ for long. And Michael could hazard a guess that such a state of existence wouldn't begin anytime soon.

However, they eventually pulled themselves from the bed and each other and began to prepare.

While Selene disappeared down the stairs, Michael pulled on his clothing and was tying his boots when he took notice of the table to the side of the bed. Selene's various weapons were scattered there, surrounded by extra clips. Next to this lay the two bags of cloned blood that Selene had put there the morning before. Hesitantly, he picked one up, studied it as the thick liquid sloshed in the plastic under his fingers.

Michael was, of course, no stranger to units of blood such as this. However, never before had the sight of one made his stomach loudly protest its state of emptiness. Nor had his previous uses for such ever involved what he did now. He bit is lip, considered for a second – _it is cloned blood, Michael; it's not from anyone_ – and twisted the cap off the appendage tubing in the plastic. There was another moment of hesitation before he brought it to his lips.

It was the temperature more than the taste that made him uncomfortable; it was tepid and thick. Despite this, he drank it with a sense of purpose; if he had to do this, he might as well get used to it. Yet, at the same time, he began to feel gratification, although he wasn't sure if that was from the blood itself or the dwindling ache of hunger. The taste was just…_right_, somehow.

"Michael."

Startled, Michael twisted. Selene stood in the doorway, wearing a satisfied expression and a new, shining Death Dealer suit. She held the matching corset in her hand. Michael quickly swallowed what blood was left in his mouth and stood up. He knew that she considered drinking blood perfectly normal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just been caught doing something inappropriate.

Sensing his guilt, she patiently shook her head and held out her free hand for the blood. He gave it to her and watched, fascinated, as she raised it to her own mouth. It occurred to Michael that he had never before seen her do this. He had _known_ she had fed in the woods, but as he had been occupied with other thoughts at the time, he hadn't really considered that fact, that aspect of her vampirism. As she fed, as the blood passed her perfect lips, she shut her eyes in obvious pleasure. He looked intently at the rather sexy picture it made, and his fingers itched to touch her again. Selene opened her eyes, must have realized how freely he was staring, and immediately tensed her shoulders. Michael was secretly enthralled when the most subtle of blushes rose in her cheeks. Avoiding his eyes, Selene handed the bag of blood back to him and went to retrieve her guns.

She cleared her throat. "I'm proud of you."

"For what?" he asked, passing the blood between his hands.

"For feeding without my encouragement," she said, trying to regain some of the composure she obviously thought lost, by loading one of her handguns with a new magazine and holstering it at her hip. "It's one less thing to worry about, you not eating."

He shifted uncomfortably, but he had to agree with her. "I had to think about it for a bit," he admitted hesitantly.

She looked back at him before sheathing her silver-edged knife into her boot. "That's understandable," she replied, "but you'll get used to it. Enjoy it, even, eventually."

He nodded, not yet willing to admit that he _had_ enjoyed feeding, even if it was just a little bit. But the look Selene gave him told him she knew anyway. He shrugged, and finished off the blood.

The satisfied look returned to her eyes, and she moved back to the door to pick up a black arms bag she must have left there. Inside, Michael could see at least two dozen more magazines, a handful of odd, heavy-looking silver disks, glow sticks, and what looked like another Death Dealer uniform. She grabbed the clothes she had slept in off of the floor and stuffed them in the bag as well.

Michael glanced outside. In the light cast by the waning moon, he could see a scattering of white fall gently to the ground. He turned to Selene and found her wrestling with the leather corset, having what looked to be extreme difficulties with zipping it up in the back. She looked decidedly annoyed.

"It's new," she said, "never been worn. It takes at least three days of constant wear to get these damned things pliable enough to get them on without a fight."

He walked over to her. "Here." It wasn't as difficult for him to zip the thing, as he had the advantage of not having to reach behind to do so. "Is it worth it?"

She twitched her shoulders. "More than that; it gets very convenient. The suit's waterproof; this thing is mostly bulletproof."

"I see," he said. The top of the zipper reached, he was unable to resist the urge to run his fingers along her shoulder blades. "There you go."

Her back twisted so she could accustom herself to the confining garment. She looked back at him, and then ducked her head. "Thank you," she said softly.

He didn't say anything, merely ran his fingers through his hair once and walked away to retrieve his jacket. But he snuck a glance at her, found her biting her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to conceal a smile, and outright grinned at her.

A few minutes later, all the equipment was collected. More bags of blood had joined their extra clothing and Selene's small armory in the bag. Michael grabbed it and nodded upon her inquiry of if he was ready to leave. They descended the stairs of the gatehouse, and it was as they were passing the second level that Michael heard it.

The sound of movement over gravel instantly made him tense. Selene froze instantly as well; they both knew full well what it was: someone was outside the gatehouse door. The vampires had found them.

Selene grabbed for the guns holstered at her hips. A glance at her eyes confirmed his own suspicions; they were bright blue.

_What do we do?_ He asked himself, despite knowing the answer perfectly. They would fight. They would win. It was that simple.

Michael felt his nails sharpen into claws, felt the familiar itch that meant his eyes were turning black. A soft rumble of a growl came from his throat when he exhaled. He nodded to Selene, and they both continued to move silently down the rest of the steps, until they stood right in the door.

Selene turned to him, to look directly in the eye. "Try not to kill too many," she said quietly. "We need to know what they know."

He nodded; his ability to speak was vanishing because of his teeth burgeoning into outright fangs. But before it was gone completely, he voiced his own order. "Be careful."

Now it was her turn to nod. She stepped forward and pressed her mouth against his, kissing him in a hungry, desperate fashion. Her kiss was so powerful, in fact, that when she broke away with the same abruptness of her approach, Michael's awareness was temporarily fogged. He shook himself out of his daze only when he heard the sound of feet on the gravel outside again. She nodded again, and kicked the door open.

There was no one there.

_What?_ Michael glanced around. There were no people in sight. There was also smell to indicate the presence of any other vampire than Selene, although that could easily be blamed on the freezing night air laying any smell to almost near non-existence. Selene looked confused as well. _What was causing that sound?_

A soft whine startled him. He looked at the ground. Three of the coven's guard dogs, the ones that had so unceremoniously chased him off the property the night of Lucian's bite, were crouched at Selene's feet. One had a scratch across its snout, while the other two had singed fur. However, none of them appeared to have any serious injuries.

_They were the ones making the noise_, Michael realized. _I wonder how they got out of the fire._ It was no matter, though. If there were any vampires that had survived the horrendous blaze, they were not around. Michael's nails receded back into his fingers and his teeth shrank.

Selene sighed, relieved. "Never mind," she whispered. "Let's go." He walked towards the garage. Michael made to follow her, hesitated, and opened the door wider, allowing the confused, homeless former guard dogs to take shelter inside the gatehouse, away from the bitter cold of the night air, and the snow that was now beginning to fall in earnest.


End file.
